Page 129 of Play With Me

And I try not to get too hung up on the fact that this might be the last time we do this.

“So,” Jude says, recounting what we’ve just gone over, “James and Eleanor had not just a love affair at George Cleary’s cottage in Switzerland, but a love child.” He pushes back his index finger.

“Who they named Clea,” I agree.

He counts off his middle finger next. “And the sisters put her up for adoption.”

“Correct.”

He adds his ring finger. “And someone came looking for Clea thirty years ago at the convent, but Sister Ilsa didn’t know what they were told.”

“Yes.”

“That’s it.”

I sigh again, closing my eyes and leaning back on the pillow. “Is that it then? Do we pass this all onto the police and give up on finding anything new ourselves?”

“We could,” Jude says. “Or we could convince Griff to help us going forward.”

My heart clenches. “Jude, we’re going home, remember?”

Jude takes my hand in his, threading his long fingers through mine and holding our joined hands against his chest. “We don’t have to decide what to do about what we’ve learned yet.”

He doesn’t acknowledge what I’ve said. But I realize it doesn’t matter. I need to say goodbye to Eleanor and James’s story, and I need to say goodbye to Jude, too.

“You know what I think?” I ask, my throat thick.

“What’s that, baby?”

“You know how George Cleary was an asshole with mistresses everywhere and warehouses full of people he underpaid and overworked?”

Jude nods.

“He cheated, lied, and boozed his way into bankruptcy, and he murdered his so-called wife when he found out she sought refuge in the arms of his driver, who’d been in love with her for years.”

Jude meets my eyes, waiting.

“I think maybe they got married in that cottage. I think when she died, her heart belonged to James.”

“Is that enough for you? Don’t you want to know what happened to him? And Clea? And how do we know it was George who killed her?”

“We’re out of time, Jude. Maybe it’s enough for us to know they were in love. That Eleanor and James’s descendants are out there somewhere, living and breathing.” My throat is thick suddenly with unshed tears. It’s Eleanor’s story that had me starting this adventure with Jude years ago, but it’s James’s that’s become mine.

“Jude,” I say softly. “What’s going to happen tomorrow?”

Jude’s eyes linger on mine a moment, then he looks away. “We’re going to hang out with Cap and maybe Farrah. Then we’ll pack for the train the next day.”

“Then what?”

“Then we’ll take you back to London and we’ll…” Jude swallows. “We’ll catch our plane.”

“Right,” I whisper.

“Nora, I don’t know what to say,” Jude says, threading his hand through mine. “I keep everything light and happy because, well, you’ve seen me when I don’t. It’s ugly.”

“There’s nothing about you that’s ugly, Jude.”

He scoffs. “You’re the one person who knows that’s not true.”

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